


Debt collector

by belana



Series: New Order [5]
Category: Crows Zero (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 04:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11706567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belana/pseuds/belana
Summary: The one, who stumbled once, will be crippled for a lifetime.





	Debt collector

**Author's Note:**

Tokaji Yuji doesn't like visitors.

They materialize suddenly, without a warning, catch him off guard and ask a bunch of loaded questions.

"Hey, pug face!"

Tokaji doesn't have a name or a surname. He has a long alphanumeric string, stitched on the front of his shirt. He also has a very expressive face, so prison guards don't rack their brains over his new nickname.

"Hey, pug face! Move, you have guests."

"Who?" Tokaji doesn't like rain-dance, he asks the question out of habit without much hope of an answer.

"You'll see."

That's right. No one is obliged to answer. No one is obliged to do anything for you.

 

* * *

 

"Dad! Daddy!"

The girl squeaks as soon as Yuji appears in the doorway, runs to him across the whole long room, maneuvering between chaotically placed tables, jumping over someone else's feet.

"Snowflake?" Tokaji swoops his daughter up. "What are you doing here?"

"Mom said you miss me. Do you, Daddy? I miss you very much. Will you tell Mom that we can have a puppy? Or a kitten? Daddy, I want a kitten very much, but Mom says you have allelgy."

"Allergy," Yuji corrects her on autopilot. "No, Snowflake, I don't have an allergy. It's just that out apartment is too small..."

"Why can't we move to a bigger one?"

Indeed, Tokaji thinks. Why? Why nothing ever is as simple as a four-year-old girl thinks?

"Go, play over there." He puts her down, and she runs to the children's corner as alien in the prison's visiting room as a bunch of bright toys among grey walls can be. "Why the hell did you bring the kids?" Yuji whispers to his wife.

"What? Are you ashamed?" she shoots back in a loud whisper. "When you robbed people of their money you didn't feel ashamed, did you?"

Seven-year-old Ichiro stares at the table gloomily, not wanting to meet his father's eyes.

"Hi," Tokaji smiles, lost and pathetic.

"I want to go home," the boy stands up, looking only at the door. A door, flanked by armed guards.

Mako, you stupid bitch, do you have any idea what you're doing?

"I hope you understand what we're feeling. Yuki, come here!" she rises her voice, clawing at his ears like a nail scratching glass. Tokaji winces.

"Stop shouting at her."

He doesn't want to remember them like this: confused daughter, son with reddened eyes and lips pressed tight.

He wants to say: Don't you realize for whom I've doing this shit?

He knows his wife wouldn't understand, so he doesn't utter a word. He looks at her unnaturally straight back, her disheveled bun of ink-black hair, Snowflake's tiny palm, clasped in her right hand, Ichiro's angular shoulder, clasped in her left one.

"Well, are you done? Into your cell, move it."

 

* * *

 

Tokaji sees no point in petitioning for parole, but diversions are few here, so he dutifully copies meaningless phrases. Everyone in his cell, in his block does the same when their time comes, he doesn't have to behave differently from other. It's bad for one's health when one is in prison, almost as bad as having raw sex with a street girl.

"We're hearing a petition of Tokaji Yuji... convicted... extortion by threats to life and health... incarcerated for three years..."

There are two tables in the tiny prison court room — one for prosecutor, the other for defender — and several rows of steel chairs, bolted down to the floor. Yuji is sitting too close to a guard, it makes both of them uneasy. When the door opens, both jump and feel the same sort of shame because of their identical reaction.

"Excuse me!"

The judge's eyebrows disappear into his hairline.

"Who are you?"

An open lawyer ID appears on the table as if mocking the judge with its scarlet cover.

"Councilor, the hearing's already started."

"I'm sorry, I was delayed, there was a jam on the way here."

The lawyer is too tall and broad-shouldered, the room seems smaller in his presence. He takes his ID unflappably as if he doesn't realize they're showing him the door and a police officer will soon drag him out of the room like a homeless dog that wondered into a supermarket. He's in no hurry to put his ID away, it seems he's whispering something to the judge. Tokaji doesn't see his lips so he can't be sure what exactly.

"A councilor of the convict, lawyer Tatsukawa Tokio, is admitted to the hearing."

The prosecutor's face falls, the guard curses under his breath, which is understandable. Yuji wants to curse too, he wants to jump up, shout, he wants to do something, for god's sake, but he only clenches his teeth.

Tokio turns to him, smiling brightly, and sits at the empty table. He doesn't pull out any documents, he doesn't even open his leather brief case. He politely listens to the prosecutor, ignoring his blood-shot eyes, then says calmly, "I have nothing to add to the arguments, stated in my client's petition."

Realization hits Tokaji's shoulders like a sack of cement: What’s the point in saying anything?

“The court is retiring to consider the judgment.”

The judge’s robe trails over dirty floor, Tatsukawa comes closer to Yuji.

“I’m sorry,” Tokio whispers quietly into his ear the same way he whispered into the judge’s ear fifteen minutes ago. “We’ve learnt of this too late, otherwise we wouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Who are ‘we’?” Tokaji feels cold sweat forming on his upper lip.

“It’s going to be alright, Yuji.” Tokio pats his shoulder. “We’re not going to abandon you.”

“Tokio.” The tweed of Tatsukawa’s suit almost bursts at the seams in Tokaji’s fist. “I’d rather serve my sentence.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” Tokio’s smile never falters. “You have family to take care of.”

“All rise, court is now in session.”

The lawyer returns to his table, Yuji sags onto the chair like soft spring snow falls into a snow melter.

“The court, consisting of the judge… hearing a petition of Tokaji Yuji, born in 1989… convicted according… resolved…”

 _Why are all verdicts so lengthy?_ Yuji thinks, looking down. _Why do they have to read loads of bullshit instead of saying just yes or no?_

Then he answers his own question: social justice, correction, rehabilitation, prevention were never the reasons for his imprisonment. It was done to abuse of human dignity, and physical one too. The Empire of Japan is beyond any international convention.

“Tokaji Yuji’s petition,” the judge is finally getting to the point, “is to be satisfied.”

The prosecutor crossly slaps a folder on the table. He’s angry, but only for half an hour, then he’ll forget this trial and the name of this convict.

“Don’t regret this, boy,” the guard says without turning his head.

 _I already am,_ Yuji wants to say, _I’m already regretting this decision_.

 

* * *

 

He hopes no one will meet him at the gates.

He wants to see only empty road and withered grass outside of prison gates — and no Tokio. Tokio or anyone else of their gang. Fate has a weird sense of humor, who could have thought that Tatsukawa would become a yakuza lawyer...

"See you soon," the guard smirks, pushing a button. The door with barbed wire on top squeaks and opens slowly. Tokaji stares at the dusty road and withered grass and sees no Tokio. Or any of his classmates. There is only a frayed yellow Nissan with black checker pattern is standing nearby.

"How much?"

"Not more than money," the driver replies without turning his head. He's a young fellow with a cap on his head as if he were a newspaper boy.

"I'll pay on arrival," Yuji explains, making a helpless gesture.

"That you will," the driver agrees. "Get in."

Tokaji shut a squeaking door closed. It's not worth the effort to wait for a bus that arrives every ninty minutes. Yuji hasn't been home far too long, his wife is mad at him, his son doesn't want to talk to him, but they are family. They miss him, surely.

Tokaji is climbing up the stairs, rises his hand to knock on the door, when he realizes it's open.

"What is this? A dog?"

Yuji looks at the blond hair and thinks that he doesn't want to return to prison. He doesn't want to end up with murderers. Yuji thinks that Tokio would refuse to help him if he shoots Izaki Shun, who is sitting in his kitchen, staring at his daughter's drawings.

"Are you stupid? It's a horse!"

"Yuki, stop talking in such a tone!"

Mako is cooking, turning nothing into a dinner for welcome guests. Tokaji looks at containers with food that his family can't afford and realizes that today Mako is glad to cook. It must be a good thing, but Yuji is angry, and anger is boiling over.

"What are you doing here, Izaki?" he asks grimly without taking his shoes off.

"Dad! Mom, Ichi-nee! Dad is back!"

Izaki turns around and stares shamelessly as Yuji kisses his daughter, hanging on to him like a monkey.

"Ichiro?"

His son appears in the bedroom doorway, clutching a game console. Tokaji knows for a fact that it's not a present from his mother.

"Izaki." He nodds at the veranda that runs around the house.

"We'll be back soon, Mako-san," the bastard smiles like he's going out for a smoke.

 

* * *

 

They do light a cigarette each. It's easier not to look at each other and fill in pauses that way: Yuji is waiting, Izaki is provoking.

They lean on the railing, look down and flip ash on flowerbeds below. Landlord — not old, but unpleasant fellow — appears in the yard. He looks up, pales and bows, muttering. Not to Tokaji, by the way.

"How do you know him?"

Izaki shrugs, smiling smugly.

"We've just met. He's alright, even though he looks like a jerk. He wanted to renew rent contract with Mako-san: prices are rising, inflation and stagnation make everyone's life shit, national economy is failing... But I talked to him, and it turned out he's a decent man, he knows how to show understanding."

Tokaji is so spellbound that he doesn't notice the cigarette burned down and burns his fingers.

"Aren't you afraid to make yourself at home on someone else's turf?"

"It's not entirely someone else's." Izaki exhales cigarette smoke, throwing his head back. "One can't get anywhere without connections in my line of work." He turns around and looks at Yuji. "If you catch my drift."

Tokaji looks at him: Izaki is dressed in an expensive suit, has a stylish haircut, it seems he even had his nails done in a salon. Tokaji admires all this and suddenly remembers the essay he wrote in tenth grade on understanding one or another idiom. He had to write about 'the straw that broke the camel's back'. Now he could easily write twenty pages on the topic. Who'd have thought, Izaki's hair is the color of straw.

Tokaji feels something that is more important than the back, break inside him when he grabs the smiling bastard by the lapels. The cigarette falls out of his mouth, rolls down the lapel, leaving ash and a neat hole. It's a delight to see. Tokaji bends Izaki backwards over the railing and doesn't know if he wants to let him fall or not.

"Do you know what I don't understand, blondie? What the fuck do you want from me? Do you miss the upside down view of the world? Do you want to be beaten into a bloody pump again?"

"You wife is watching," Izaki notes in a politely amused voice. "And Yuki-chan too. Your daughter is lovely, by the way."

"Fuck."

Tokaji throws him on the cement floor and takes a few steps back so he can't do anything stupid.

"What you, all of you, want from me?"

"We want to help." Izaki straightens the collar of his shirt and lights a cigarette, leaning on the railing. "Look, what options do you have? Who is going to hire a man with a criminal conviction? How do you plan to feed your wife and kids? How long do you think you'll last on part-time jobs? How long will you be able to stay on the right side of the law? Your second sentence will be harsher, Tokaji. Much harsher."

"What are you offering?"

"A chance to want for nothing."

Yuji crumples an empty cigarette pack in his fist and isn't surprised when Izaki offers him his almost full one and flicks a lighter, covering the flame with his hand.

"What will I have to do?"

"The usual. People always need quick money, and they're always not eager to return it. But now we, your family, will be behind your back."

Tokaji bends lower to light a cigarette and shivers when a heavy hand touches the back of his head. He shivers, but doesn't struggle.


End file.
